


Levicorpus

by terri_testing



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:41:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terri_testing/pseuds/terri_testing
Summary: Snape reconsiders a decision that he had previously reached.  So does Lily.





	

Disclaimer:  Any reader, I assume, already knows to whom the characters and setting belong.  I claim nothing.

AU to canon, and to my fanfic “Liberacorpus.”

Warning for language, and for (non explicit) violence.

*

Hangovers were just _awful,_ Lily decided.  She gripped the corner of Sirius’s sink with one hand while she smoothed out the wrinkles from last night’s party robes with her wand.  Even unwrinkled, the purple looked just terrible with Lily’s current greenish complexion. 

Lily really couldn’t understand why some people seemed willing to get drunk on a regular basis, if this was the usual result.  Sirius’s headache remedy had stopped her head from pounding so badly, but she still felt like she wanted to throw up. 

It was hard to make a decision when she felt like this.

God, wasn’t getting pregnant supposed to make you nauseous like this _all the time_?  Or at least, every morning?  That’s why they called it morning sickness, right?

But still….

Lily bit her lip.  Madam Pomfrey had explained that many of the old Pureblood families were vehemently opposed to the use of the Hysterix charm.  But then, some of those old fossils opposed _any_ contraceptive charms, holding that a properly-married young witch’s first duty was to pop out as many babies as she could for her husband’s family. 

Why, Mary’s older sister had been married straight out of Hogwarts, and she’d had two miscarriages in as many years.   And despite that, Mary’s family had refused to sign the permission form to let Mary take Madam Pomfrey’s class.  Lily had taught Mary the simple barrier charm on the sly, back when they were still friends.  But despite her obvious anxieties, Mary had refused to learn the Hysterix charm, which made the womb inhospitable for a full three days, and could be cast either before or after the, um, event. 

The morning-after charm, some called it. 

Lily never had managed to make sense of Mary’s objections.  Sometimes the whole magical world seemed as medieval to her as Hogwarts castle self-consciously was.

Even James, open-minded as he was about such matters as her blood, refused absolutely to use the male charms now that they were married.  And seemed to wish….

Well.  That was why Lily now faced a decision.  She _knew_ that she’d been too tipsy to remember to cast the barrier charm last night.  She remembered laughing and laughing as James had spun her.  She remembered James feeding her more and more of Sirius’s punch—spiked, she’d eventually realized, with Euphoria Elixir, but by then she didn’t care.  She remembered grabbing muzzily at James’s nose…. 

Lily remembered nothing more about Sirius’s Halloween party.   Though she must have been the one who’d warned James not to try Apparating them home, in their condition.  Unless Remus had been, which would just be way, _way_ too embarrassing.

But she could tell that she and James had had sex.  And she _knew_ that James wouldn’t have used a charm.

Should she do something about it now, or take the risk of doing nothing? 

*

It was hard to make a decision when he felt like shit. 

The thought of what the Dark Lord would do tonight when Severus finally reported in about his failure made him damn well want to puke in terror.  Still, he was glad he’d squelched his first impulse last night, to ask for an immediate conference with his master and trust him to go off half-cocked pursuing what _else_ Severus had to report.

He had to be sure.  It still seemed like the best plan, on sober reflection.  Only, trusting Lord Voldemort for _anything_ had turned out to be ... injudicious. 

Severus’s icy fingers drummed the table as he tried to calculate all the angles. 

Bringing the Dark Lord such important news as a True Prophecy concerning him _should_ sweeten him enough to spare Severus’s life, at least.  See how useful I am, my Lord, gathering critical news even while worrying about my failure to gain the Hogwarts position as you instructed?   Don’t shoot the messenger, eh?  There might be more where that came from! 

But more importantly…. Lord Voldemort certainly had enough overweening arrogance to imagine that he might have the power to turn a prophecy.  And if he tried… by all the stories… his very actions to avert the prophesied fate would bring it about, faster and harder and from an unexpected direction. 

Just as every attempt to bring about a prophecy’s fulfillment brought “successes” that made the prophecy-victim wish earnestly that he had failed.

Severus had never admitted even to himself how urgently he’d come to want their liberty until he’d seen, all unexpectedly, this chance. 

Cherishing a desire for freedom, even a secret one, was also injudicious, when one’s master was such an adept Legilimens as theirs.

But now… he reviewed the words he’d heard, with the same elation he’d felt on first hearing them.

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…. born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…._

The Dark Lord vanquished.  What a _sweet_ idea.  Better yet, vanquished by “the _one_ with the power.”  So, in a one on one duel such as Dumbledore’s with Grindelwald.  And only Dumbledore, surely, could ever be soft enough to leave such a dangerous opponent alive?

Yet Dumbledore was clearly older than Lord Voldemort, his parents dead long before the Dark Lord arose—no chance, then, that he could have been born to a couple who had defied Lord Voldemort even once, even if his birthday WAS in July. 

And surely any other champion would simply kill the Dark Lord out of hand? 

Which was the best of all.  The Dark Lord _alone_ was prophesied to be vanquished.  And Lord Voldemort was insistent that he _alone_ should know all his followers.  So his death would mean freedom, for everyone in his train who hadn’t compromised themselves too badly.

Chance would play a part, of course.  Luck.  There was no guarantee that the prophesied release would occur before Severus was forced to do something that would betray himself irrevocably.  Or even before he was killed.

Still, it was the first chance he’d yet seen or imagined. 

And even if Severus himself were never released from his puppet-master save by death, others he cared for might be.

Severus closed his eyes.  _Liberacorpus,_ he thought, imagining Evan, Lucius, Regulus, flailing in midair, furious and helpless.  Like himself.

Dumped to the ground suddenly.  Without dignity, but free.

Released by a half-blood, even if they never knew it.  Severus smirked.

He could do it.  It only required that he Occlude all his emotions other than his eager hope that the Dark Lord would be pleased enough with his spying to forgive him (for now) his failure to gain Dumbledore’s trust.

His sick terror was quite real enough, and should please his master’s palate.

And surely, surely, his master was arrogant enough to jump at the prophecy.  Surely it would work.

He would do it, then.  He should have followed his first impulse, and gone straight to him last night.  It might have looked better that way.  Too late for that, now. 

It was only a pity he couldn’t risk another Occlumency practice with Lucius before he had to face him.  Unless—his eyes narrowed, and he looked over at his wardrobe—unless it were possible to sneak one in when he returned the robes that Narcissa had altered for him—

_Narcissa._ The thought hit him like a Bludger to the gut.  She had told him yesterday that she thought she might be pregnant.   That in return for her help in grooming him for the interview she might ask him for some potions.

And if she’d just become so—he stopped to count months, yes, nine from October—

Oh, sweet Nimue, the trap he’d nearly tumbled into.  The prophecy had said “born as the seventh month _dies._ ”  The prophesied vanquisher he had been counting on with such hope might not even have been _born_ yet.  It might be Narcissa’s child, if that child were indeed born in July.  Even if not, his relaying that prophecy to the Dark Lord might make Lucius and Narcissa the Dark Lord’s targets.

Oh, fuck. _Would_ make them his targets.  Severus’s entire brilliant plan, to tempt the Dark Lord to self-destruction by leaking him that prophecy—what was that, after all, but a plot to try to benefit from the prophecy _himself?_

Which must infallibly twist it around to involve _him._

And those _he_ would most wish to protect. 

Severus had been thinking with such scornful superiority of _Lord Voldemort’s_ arrogance—what of his own?  Thinking to turn a True Prophecy to his advantage!

At the best, Severus’s attempt to use the prophecy to gain his freedom might win him additional years of servitude.  For himself and for his friends.  Decades even, perhaps, of increasingly corrupted deeds, of disgust and terror, of regret…. 

And of prison or death for many, possibly including himself.  If he were lucky.

Severus might well end up wishing he were dead, and denied that mercy.

While he waited for some puling infant to be born, to grow up, to come into enough power to vanquish the Dark Lord….

That’s if he got off lightly.  At the worst, his relaying the prophecy to the Dark Lord would result in the death of someone Severus would not be willing to sacrifice.

Oh bloody hell. It just got worse.  There was no surety even that _his_ “Dark Lord” was the one in question!  There had been others who used that title before; there might be others again.  That would be _just_ like a prophecy, lure you into acting on it when it wouldn’t even have applied if you’d only left it the fuck alone.

That prophecy-trap had been set for _him_.

And he’d almost gone straight to Voldemort last night.  He collapsed against the table, shaking.

The Ministry was right about something, for a wonder.  The only safe thing to be done with a prophecy was to suppress it.

If Severus had come to long for the Dark Lord’s downfall, as it seems he must admit to himself that he had, he’d have to start working for that directly, not hope for a prophecy to release him.  The DMLE’s new head was reputed to be utterly ruthless, but also pragmatic, and to have a strong appreciation for the threat the Dark Lord posed…. 

Severus sat up and grimaced.  He had no good choices.

For now, however, there was only one thing to be done.  And if it meant Severus’s death tonight facing the Dark Lord’s disappointment without any news to placate and distract him—or if, at some time to come, it meant having his body and mind both shredded to try to uncover what he might have overheard last night—well. 

Either fate would be less bitter than some of the other possibilities, with a fucking prophecy involved. 

If there was one thing Severus could be sure of, it was that.

He held to that certainty, and made himself concentrate.

Someone might have witnessed his being thrown out.  So he couldn’t go to the Dark Lord simply believing that nothing had happened post-interview; what needed to be clipped was that he’d actually heard anything of import.  He set himself to remember the aftermath of the interview, as clearly as his trained mind could.

Shaking with fear in that fleabag bedroom, trying to compose himself enough to Apparate safely while thinking about his master’s likely response to Dumbledore’s rejection….  A noise—registered after a moment as being an oddly deep voice.  Swiftly stooping to the keyhole….  Being hauled upright by that smelly bastard of a barkeep….  Being thrown out with the barkeep’s curses.

Nothing he’d be happy to show his master, nothing he’d ever volunteer, but nothing that would raise suspicions if he left it out of his account.  Nothing useful.

As to the rest, the words themselves, his wild elation on hearing them… Severus shivered and steadied himself.  He set his wand to his temple.

_“Obliviate!”_

 

*

Lily’s mouth firmed.

It was _her_ body.  And whatever James felt, _she_ did not think that now was a good time to start a family.  She raised her wand and cast.

 

A shadow moved in the doorway behind her.  “Lils?” James said.  “What the fuck did you just do?”

Lily was annoyed to feel herself blushing—damn her fair skin anyway!—but she turned and met her husband’s eyes.  She hadn’t done anything secret, and she hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“We didn’t cast a contraceptive charm last night, I’m pretty sure.  So I took care of it now.”

He flicked his wand sharply, and she found herself upside down, her robes falling over her face.  Just like Sev had predicted, she’d dropped her wand in her surprise.

James was screaming at her, “You bitch!  You Mudblood bitch!  I didn’t think even you were bitch enough to kill my baby!”

Then the first pain hit, and she was screaming too. 

And then she was sprawling on the floor.  Remus was looking at her over James and Sirius’s bodies.  Even his lips were white.

“Get out now,” he said. 

She fled.

*

 

A/N:  this is dedicated to Sunnyskywalker, with my best wishes for hir enjoyment.

It is written as an AU to “Liberacorpus.”  It’s possible to see and write James Potter as not abusive (Potionpen does), but in that fic he was.

My working title for this was “Liberacorpus Two,” which I never intended to publish it as.  So then I thought, well, the opposite of Liberacorpus is… nah, that doesn’t work.   
And then I thought:  it does.

Levicorpus doesn’t really _hurt_ its victims.  It yanks them from their comfort zone.  It attacks their dignity.  Often, it disarms them.  Usually, it frightens and disturbs them.

But the spell does not _hurt_ them. 

Just gives them a sharp shock, and dangles them upside down for long enough that they are forced to register how differently things may look from a different angle.


End file.
